


The Gladiolus' Song

by Hiete (Yellow_Glass)



Series: Bildungsroman [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drama, Flash Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 17:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellow_Glass/pseuds/Hiete
Summary: He looks rumpled even though his face is turned away — towards somewhere far off — and the sight sends a familiar ache through Iwaizumi’s chest: the way he was gazing at the distance, at some far-off, distant place that only he could see.





	The Gladiolus' Song

They’re on a bus.

It’s a plain bus. The windows are untinted, the seats stiff, the portable TV old. It smells like most buses do, that clinical half-leather, half rubber scent that seem to be endemic to all public transportation. On the portable Acer TV, there’s a grainy rendering of  _ Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind _ , the sounds coming from it nearly drowned out by the clanging of their suitcases against the metal bars that passed for an overhead storage.

Outside, through the windows, Iwaizumi can see the sun. It’s early; the sunlight not the prickly heat of noon, but the gentle warmth of dawn. Every now and then, the sunlight would be blocked by the trees — green, blurred smears against the window — that the bus would pass by. The bus is mostly empty, with only a brunette woman at the very front of the bus and an elderly couple at the back. 

And at the window seat, chin resting on his palm, was Oikawa.

The sunlight hit him just so that Iwaizumi could see the faint signs of a stubble on his jaw. His tie is undone, the collar of his dress shirt loosened up and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the accompanying blazer nowhere to be found. He looks rumpled even though his face is turned away — towards somewhere far off — and the sight sends a familiar ache through Iwaizumi’s chest: the way he was gazing at the distance, at some far-off, distant place that only he could see.

It’s quiet. There’s only the humming of the bus, the muted sound of tires on asphalt, and the occasional whoosh of other vehicles passing by. The sunlight is getting dimmer and softer. Iwaizumi isn’t exactly aware of how long the silence has stretched, but it feels like it’s been a long time. 

It feels like it’s been forever.

He lets out a soundless sigh, suddenly tired and cold. The sunlight is angled so that it only reaches Oikawa, and the idea forms in his head seemingly on its own.

Slowly, carefully, Iwaizumi leans towards Oikawa’s side of the seat. He could feel the warmth getting stronger as he got closer with every nudge, and feels himself relax when he gets close enough that his hair must be tickling Oikawa’s ear. 

Oikawa’s still focused on something only he can see through the window, sunlight silhouetting his figure. A part of Iwaizumi feels conflicted, but it’s ignored in favor of shifting his head down onto the juncture of Oikawa’s neck and Oikawa’s shoulder. The dress shirt feels somewhat rough against his cheek, but warmth seeps through it all the same. He can feel Oikawa shifting to look down towards him, but he ignores it in favor of rearranging himself so that he can put most of his weight onto Oikawa, stretching out his legs into the cramped space. Oikawa, warm and solid beneath him, has him feeling drowsy almost immediately, and he closes his eyes against the sunlight that’s now hitting him. 

_ I miss you,  _ Iwaizumi thinks _. I already miss you. _

Iwaizumi can feel Oikawa’s chest as he breathes in, the shifts of his muscles as he works his throat to say something. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t let him. “This’ll be the last time,” he says, voice low and light. “This is the last time.”

Oikawa doesn’t reply; he just pauses for a moment. Then he looks away towards the window, towards something far and beautiful and only he can see.

He’s always looking away.


End file.
